


Draemon

by YinNocturne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Inheritance, Dragon/Demon hybrid species, Gen, Magical Book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YinNocturne/pseuds/YinNocturne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something strange occurred on Harry's 14th birthday and now he has a giant and volatile secret to hide from the rest of Hogwarts. Not to mention the Dark Lord that's not as dead as everyone thinks he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There is a vampire book on my floor

**Author's Note:**

> This is an edited version of chapter one (as of Oct 22, 2015). It's both shorter and longer than what was previously here - there are more words, but less scenes. I'm planning to go through and edit the rest of what I currently have, so there will probably be another two or three chapters before I get into writing completely new material. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the new version, and that it's not too jarring given the change in tense/person etc, for previous readers.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

One more minute past.

I flop back onto the bed, automatically shifting to avoid the broken springs and odd sinking patches. No amount of staring at the small alarm clock on the bedside crate will make the seconds tick by any faster. It will still take sixty of them for a minute to pass, I know. I might as well distract myself, rather than feel every single one of them.

It’s July 31, the evening of my 14th birthday and the day has been just like any other. The Dursleys assigned me an incredulous amount of chores. And, as per the new usual, otherwise ignored my presence in their precious home. Since I told them at the start of the holidays that my godfather was a ‘convicted mass murderer’, thank you Sirius,  they had taken to treating me like empty air. Except in the mornings, when Aunt Petunia hands me the chores list for the day.

I look over to the clock that is slowly blinking closer and closer to midnight. Much to slowly, in my mind; all I want is for it to finally reach 12:00am.

* * *

 Unfortunately, Harry never saw those numbers, the clock had never been properly reset, and was lagging about two minutes behind. It was also because as midnight struck, he was overcome by intense pain. There was no equal to it. For the few seconds before everything went blank he thought it was a feeling not unlike like someone flaying the skin of his limbs and then dipping him into a vat of corrosive liquid. Then proceeding to break and reset every bone in his body. Only the latter of that interpretation was correct; Harry’s bones were indeed breaking. Lengthening, and fixing the damage of a decade’s worth of malnutrition and confinement.

When his new skeletal structure was solid again, his new appendages broke through. Piercing the skin of his back, either side of his skull above his ears, the base of his spine. Several more bone structures had been modified, morphing and twisting as they reformed inside him. Harry’s body had shut down, his conscious mind firmly locked away to protect him. Being aware during the massive restructuring his body was doing, would likely have driven him insane.

A side effect of this was that he didn’t see the flash of light, or hear the ominous, crackling rumble of thunder in perfectly clear skies. He did, however hear the book thumping down on his floor. It jolted him back into awareness.

* * *

I jump when I hear something heavy thud to the floor off to my right. Fingers automatically grasping for the wand I keep on the crate that functions as a bedside table. Only to gasp and recoil into myself as pain ratchets through my body. All my muscles ache like they’ve been bruised by a sledgehammer, one wielded by a vengeful troll. Contracting and releasing my muscles in a slow rhythm to attempt to desensitise myself from the pain, I start to shift. Starting with my toes, wriggling them in my socks. Summer it may be, but the Dursley’s haven’t seen fit to give me blankets. Several minutes of methodical torture in the guise of movement later, I reach again for my wand. Though, really, if there was an attacker in the room, I would be dead, cursed, or kidnapped by now. But there is something fundamentally comforting about holding it, even if I can’t legally cast any magic in the summers.

After a deep inhale, I gingerly roll onto my side, gaze flicking over the room. At first glance nothing is out of place. The bars, reinstated by Vernon sometime in the time I’d been at Hogwarts, casting lines on the floor in the moonlight. It’s absentmindedly following these stripes that I find the most likely cause of my rude awakening.

There is a book on my floor. A thick one; old, and bound by a heavy belt. It’s also blanketed in a thin layer of dust.

“Right.” I say, “I’m guessing this a magic thing.” I continue, directed at the room at large, “I’m pretty sure I don’t know of anything else that drops off old, dusty books in locked rooms.” I move cautiously towards it, wand raised.

I crouch down in front of it, chin propped on one wrist. After several long minutes of staring, I poke with one Dudley’s old trainer’s, abandoned in a small mountain of disintegrating fabric near the door. When nothing obviously magically happens I decide that if it was going to curse me, well it would have happened already. Wand still held ready in one hand, I pick it up with the other. For a book as thick as my bicep, it’s surprisingly light.

With a shrug I settle back on the bed, shuffling back to lean against the headboard. Wand placed back on the bedside crate, but still within easy reach, I examine the outside of the book. The belt holding it closed comes of with a touch to the buckle tucked in the hollow of the fore edge. The book is bound is heavy, aged leather, supple to the touch, with the creases wearing to white with age. There is a title, cut into the leather of the spine and the cover, but it’s almost worn away.

The leather creaks and the pages whisper as I open it, having found the back to be unadorned. The first page is blank, but that’s normal all of our Hogwarts books are the same, what’s not is that the next five pages are blank as well. A quick thumbing reveals that the entire book is blank, pages still creamy white no signs of aging, but also no ink or typeface at all.

I let out a huff, yes magical indeed, this book. All that getting worked up for nothing. “Well, if nothing else, I have a book I can write in now.” I say, patting the book cover absentmindedly, finger slipping to run over the fore edge. Only to jerk back, tips stinging. Lifting my fingers up to my face I can see that each of them has a long papercut across the pad. “Okay. Blood thirsty magical book.” I’m slightly more concerned now.

I flip the book onto it’s spine just in time to see the blood, my blood, disappear into the pages. A warm, tingly sensation in my cut fingers distracts me from the blood - that is no longer there because the book ate it. Flipping the book again, I can see that the back now has imprints of my fingers. Fine cuts that match the whorls and loops of my fingerprints impressed into the leather. A quick look at my fingers confirms that it also healed the cuts.

My head thunks back into the wall above the headboard. “Why Potter Luck, why? Why must the book be a vampire book? Why can’t books be normal, instead of trying to suck the life out of you, or bite your hand off, or drink your blood?” I whine, because, really, the Wizarding World gives their book a little bit too much sentience to be comfortable. I stare at the ceiling for several long moments.

When I look back down, the book has fallen open in my lap. There’s writing in it now, in a suspiciously bloody red ink. All flourishes and accents, it looks incredible, but it’s also not in English.

“Really book, you are far too much trouble for something I can’t even read.” I mutter sourly. But even as I say it the words shift and writhe on the page, resolving into something I can actually understand. Now I can clearly see that this page is covered in names. Not set up like a family tree though, just names, looking like they’d each been written by the people who’d used them. They weren’t just names, but titles too, strings of initials and words that looked like gibberish. There’s even a bloody fingerprint in one corner, with a triangular marking above like the claws on dog’s paw print.

 


	2. I have extra appendages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry discovers his new appendages, and the Book discloses a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Harry doesn't sound too mature for a 14yo wizard, at this point I'm trying to get everything down. When I come back through to edit this properly I'll no doubt fiddle with the voicing.

I run my fingers over the names, each one feels slightly different. Some are tingly, others cold, others still feel like giant voids. I draw my knees up toward my chest, bringing the book closer. There is something about these names that draws me in, they are familiar, comforting. Even the ones that feel dark, or cold or dangerous. They feel… like something I don’t have the words for. As I shift again, hunching further over the book propped on my knees, I feel something slide against my back. Something warm, covered in slick, slightly tickly fur.

I jolt, dislodging the book, and let out a high pitched yelp. Twisting violently around, I fling one hand out to grab my wand. As I spin I can feel something drag against my back, added air resistance that sets me off balance and a lurch into the wall. Only instead of the wall, I land on something leathery. Stretched between long spines, it looks remarkably like a bat’s wing. Also it hurts, a lot.

“Oww.” I moan, trying to get a hand on the wall to push myself off the, apparently connected to me ‘because why else would it hurt!’, leathery appendages. I end up rolling up into my knees, both hands on the wall, eyes smarting from the pain. Clearly that level of exertion was too much, because my back aches fiercely, the joint in my left wing throbs dully.

“Wings, okay, Harry. You can deal with this. Hermione turned into half a cat by accident last year, and McGonagall can turn into one at will. Extra limbs is nothing to worried about.” I squeeze my eyes shut, and turn my head. Counting backwards from ten before I open them.

My wings are black. Cautiously, I reach my right hand over my shoulder to grasp the leading edge. Fingers careful around the delicate bony ridge, I run them lightly down to the tip of the outermost spine. Skirting around the bony hook halfway along and stopping before another one at the end of the outside spine. Slowly, I pull up, stretching the wing out. There is a slight flare of pain when spine closest to my body shifts, but otherwise as my wing extends all I feel is the muscles rippling slightly. They really are quite beautiful, inky black with pure ivory talons - because what else would I call them - protruding from the centre of the ridge and the ends of the spines.

I go to sit back down on my heels, but a warm, heavy weight settling across my calves reminds of the initial cause of my panic. I turn to look over my shoulder, and find my view firmly blocked by black leather. I sigh, and my breath tickles, making my wings shiver slightly. It makes me grin.

“Come on now,” I say, a hand reaching up to push the wings gently out of the way. “As much as I’d like to explore you, I want to find out what’s decided to crash on my legs. Preferably before it decides to bite, claw or otherwise maim me.”

A little bit more shoving ends up with my wings wrapped around my chest, leaving my arms free to hold them in place. Obstacle successfully negotiated, I twist again, trying to see just what I have to deal with next.  Instead of a creature of some kind - I’d half been expecting a ferret - there is a tail. A long, bloody red coloured tail, with a fluffy black tassel on the end.

It looks like a lion’s tail that’s been dipped into a colour changing potion. It also twitches. A lot. The fluffy bit on the end in particular, flips up and down, then wriggles. It’s like watching Crookshanks’ tail when he’s curious about something. Usually a scrap of parchment from one of Hermione’s essays; she’s managed to find a charm to mouse toys out of them.

“Well.” I sigh, “If I have wings, why not a tail to?” I think I’ve reached the limit of being shocked in one day.

As if sensing something’s wrong my tail, my tail, lifts and curls around my waist, shimmying under the wings I’m still holding against my ribs. Helplessly, I smile. My new appendages are comforting me.

With a faint chuckle, I shuffle back around. Finding the book on the floor again; it must have fallen off while I was preoccupied with my new, non-human, appendages. ‘Maybe I’m not as numb as I thought.’ As I fish it up off the floor, a small folded piece of ivory tumbles out.

“I didn’t notice that when I was flipping through it before.” I muse. But given that the book is clearly of magical origins, and the aforementioned limits of shock, I’m really not surprised. Settling as comfortably as I can, I unfold the piece of parchment, as I can now tell that it is.

Like the book, as first glance it’s blank. Unlike the book, it doesn’t need a blood sacrifice, apparently, as after a moment red script scrolls onto the page. It’s a letter, if first line is anything to go by. Shoving my glasses into place on my nose, I bring the parchment into better focus range and begin to read.

> _Greetings young Dræmon,_
> 
> _If this book has come into your possession then one of our children has survived. As I do not know how successful they have been, you either already know enough about your heritage that this book will be more interesting than necessary; or you will have had no warning as to the changes you have just gone through._
> 
> _If this is the case, then you have had enough magical power to activate dormant genes passed, likely, through your maternal line. The traits are slightly more dominant in that side. If this is your situation then it is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that you will probably never see another of your kind._
> 
> _I say your kind , not our kind, because you are unique. And before I go further I suppose I ought to introduce myself, or this will make little sense at all. I am Lilith, Goddess of Hell and ruler over Dæmonkind. For simplicity think of me as your grandmother, though there have no doubt been countless generations between us. Your grandfather, my lover, was the Draconical Larena, King of Draconic Races. We are the only mateship between our respective species, especially with such power. I shall presume that such a pairing has not reoccurred in the time since our passing._
> 
> _As a result of this, your anatomy may well have changed during your inheritance. I do not know exactly which combination of traits you will find yourself with, but do not fear if you find yourself with extra limbs. If you’ve already encountered them, then let me assure you that they are indeed yours. They are fully connected to your body, and will respond to you just like your other limbs, given a little practice. They will also be as sensitive as new skin until the changes have had a chance to settle. Do try to avoid aggravating them too much until that happens, alright?_
> 
> _Because I do not know how much you will favour me or Larena, nor indeed if there is another inheritance you may have that will affect you in it’s own way, I shall briefly describe our chief traits. These are the most likely to have come with the inheritance._
> 
> _Larena, as you might expect from a humanoid dragon, had wings, a tail and the scales to match his draconian form. Though coloration varies amongst his brethren, Larena is a striking inky black. His scales sparkling in firelight, or moonlight, are quite a thing to see. His nails mirror his claws, although they are mostly retracted when he’s in human form. If you happen to inheritance this, I would avoid wearing shoes until you can control the extension reflex. Although it is cute to watch them slide out whenever something tickles him…_
> 
> _I am getting distracted. The only other change I can think of is that your pupils may become slitted. Slit pupils run in both lines; vertical from Larena’s, and cross-hatch from mine. The other traits my line shares is the claws - mine are more strengthened nails than true claws - and tails. The tails in my line are furred though, and have a tassel on the end like a lion’s. We Dæmons have pointed ears as well, and horns. My horns are ramlike, they spiral around the curve of my skull and around my ears._
> 
> _As with the Draconian races, our colours vary, but my hair is a true, bloody red. I am quite proud of too, even if it is completely unmanageable._
> 
> _Now that I have given you the beginnings of the basics, you need to rest. The changes brought on by the inheritance will have exhausted you, and the stress of finding yourself with new limbs overnight has no doubt been taxing._
> 
> _So sleep my child, this book is tied to you, the blood it took to confirm your connection to our line has bonded it to you. You will not lose it, nor will it leave your possession until you die or another of our line reaches their inheritance._
> 
> _When you awake, give the book a shake, it should dislodge the letter I know Larena has secreted away in there._
> 
> _The best of wishes for your happiness, and the worst of curses upon your enemies._
> 
> _Lilith_
> 
> _Goddess of Hell_
> 
> _Ruler over Dæmonkind_

 


	3. There are claws too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has more fun with the new bits and pieces brought on by his inheritance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: in the beginning of this chapter there's a pretty detailed description of self-comforting behaviour after emotional stress: balling into a fetal position, and crying oneself to sleep.
> 
> This description was taking from my own behaviours, which is why I'm putting a warning in, because it might remind someone else of situations where this kind of behaviour appears/is necessary.
> 
> Other than that, the rest of the chapter is just explorative of Harry's new situation.

I carefully tuck the letter into the front cover of the book, reaching over to gently place it on the bedside crate. Once I'm assured of it's safety, I coil up into a tight ball on my side. My hands bury themselves in my hair, tugging lightly on the strands. My tail winds itself around my waist and my wings flatten themselves to my back. I can feel something smooth and cool under my palms. 'I guess I've got the horns then.'

My breath shudders in and out of my chest. Hot, wet tears splash down my face, I've long become adept at breaking down silently. The Dursley's wouldn't tolerate my interrupting their 'nice, normal, absolutely not freakish' lives. I used to do this a lot in the cupboard, curling up into a ball and crying myself to sleep. Whenever Dudley got to rough in front of someone who should have stopped him, but didn't. Or Vernon or Marge insulted my parents, called them worthless and me too by association.

I'd press my back to the wall, tuck my knees into my chest and slide my fingers into my hair. I felt less alone that way. It still helps. I fall asleep this time too. Jammed into the corner created by the bedhead and the wall.

* * *

My rise to consciousness is slow, lingering in shadowy dreams and half remembered fear. I dream of the Dementor's almost every night, waking feeling chilled and stiff. I shudder, curling reflexively tighter. But it's not only my legs that pull tighter to my chest, or my arm that's gripped around them. My wings pull in as well, the right one extending to cover me.

My tail twitches and wriggles where it's caught against my stomach and my muscles flutter and ripple in inadvertent response. The tassel tickles. The absurdity and hilarity breaks me out of my half asleep daze and I smile as I uncurl and stretch. "Tickled by my own tail." I huff, "Never thought I'd get to say that."

Rolling my shoulders flares my wings and I wince as they hit the wall behind me. Moving into the centre of the room I lift my arms out to the sides, back muscles pulling my wings up and out as well.

It's strange; my wings are so new, not even a few hours old, but stretching them out feels just like any other limb. The slight burn at full extension, the release of letting them fall back to sit however they want to sit. It's all familiar; like I've been doing it my entire life; even though I know I haven't. I yawn widely, back arching and rising up onto the balls of my feet. My tail thrashes behind me, keeping my balance.

"I guess I've worked out what that's for then." I mutter, garbled around the yawn. I thump back onto my heels, curling my toes, and I hear a small schnick. Blinking to clear the sleep from my eyes, I peer down at my feet. "I should have been expecting that, I suppose." There are deep gouges that line up perfectly with the ends of my toes. "Given the warning about not being able to wear shoes for a while."

I flex my feet again, watching as they smoothly extend out of my toes. It doesn't hurt at all and now there are inch long talons embedded in the floorboards, bloody red darkening to black at the nail beds. Lifting my feet carefully off the floor I sit back on the bed, lifting my left foot to examine the points of the nails that now curl past the ends of my toes.

"Guess I'll be going through socks then." I say, watching blood well up on my forefinger, even retracted it appears my talons are quite sharp. "I wonder if I've got claws too?" I muse, pulling my hands up to eye height. I push my fingers out to their full extension, and sure enough, small claws slide out of the nail beds.

"Same colour as the talons." I muse, running my thumb over one the tip of the claws; just like with my talons, it comes away bloody. "Just as sharp too." I lift my legs up straight, until I can see my feet behind my hands. "Now what am I going to do with you. Aunt Petunia will be up here in another hour."

Experimentally, I flex my fingers and toes again. 'If they came out like that, maybe they'll go back in from it as well?' I think, with only the vaguest hope. "Hmm. No such luck. Or rather, a perfect example of Potter Luck. Now, how about…" I curl my toes back towards the balls of my feet.

"There we go!" When I'm looking for it, the feeling of my talons retracting is really rather strange. Accompanied by a schnick not unlike a blade returning to its sheath, the slightly crawly feeling of my talons sliding back under the skin isn't entirely unpleasant. Just slightly strange, like something I'm not yet entirely accustomed to. I do the same with my fingers; slightly more carefully this time. I really don't want to be impaled on my own claws. My hands twitch slightly as my claws settle back, nails returning to their original length; if in better condition than they'd been the day before.

Feet thumping against the floor, I flop back onto the mattress. The ceiling is the same cracked and peeling paint as it always has been. The Dursley's haven't bothered to change anything in this room, bar Dudley throwing the occasional broken toy in here, since I 'moved in'.

I breathe in deep, holding it until my lungs start to ache. Letting the air out in a controlled exhale, I push myself up again, wings flared and weight resting on my palms as my gaze flicking to book sitting innocuously on the bedside crate. Lifting myself up on my hands, I tuck my legs underneath me. Making sure my claws are safely retracted, I lean forward and scoop up the book. The buckle holding it shut had rethreaded itself while I slept. After carefully freeing the tongue I hold the book gently by its spine and shake. Out onto my lap tumbles another piece of folded parchment, this time sealed with a small blob of something inky blue and waxy.

I flip the piece over, but there's nothing on the back. Looking again at the blue fastener, I run my thumb over it. It's slightly warm to the touch. Trying to fit a blunt fingernail under the flap to open the letter yields no results. I frown, pressing on the blue, hoping it will be a release of some kind. "Maybe this is like the book." I wonder, flexing out the claws on my left hand. The barest of pressure on my right thumb draws blood.

But it seems that blood is not what this letter wants. At a loss, I hold the letter in both hands, thumbs moving restlessly. When the claw tip of my left thumb passes over the blue something sparks. There's a faint tugging sensation and three small sparks jump out of the blue and onto my claw. They crackle like static electricity. Drawing my hand back and shaking out the strange feeling, I notice that the folded edge has lifted away slightly.

"Well. I don't know what just happened, but it clearly worked." I slide a cautious finger under the flap and, when nothing untoward obviously happens, I unfold the parchment.


	4. And a hotspring inside said book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry reads another letter, and discovers that hotsprings are beautiful things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had all the sympathetic melting and shivery sensations writing this, just, mmm. Hotsprings are awesome. All warm and comfy and when you're part dragon....

As with Lilith’s letter the words take a few moments to appear, seeping up through the parchment like blood from a scrape. 

_ To my descendant, _

_ I write this letter, to accompany the book I and my family, alongside Lilith and her’s have put together in the hopes there will be future generations to pass it down to. This book contains many things, histories of our respective races and dominions, personal tales from our many relatives. There are a great many things within these pages, and I have high hopes that more will be added after my passing.  _

_ The inside cover of this book, as you may have already seen is a list of names. Everyone who was either present during the creation of this book, and those who have opened and added to it since. I hope that you, too, will add your own memories to this creation.  _

_ But that is for later. You will have found Lilith’s letter first, and that will have hopefully prepared you somewhat for the new body you have found yourself in. The first chapter of this book will go deeper into that. I know that Marius, a dear friend of mine, has included a rather detailed account of Draconian anatomy and biology. I believe Lilith’s sister Sayba did the same for your Daemon heritage.  _

_ I won’t detail the various accounts and who they come from, not only would it be unnecessarily tiresome, but it would spoil the joy of reading. I will give a small clue though: the things you will likely need immediately are at the front and the back respectively. The things that can wait a little longer fill out the middle.  _

_ Don’t feel the need to read all of it in one go, or in any kind of order. If you want to find something you’ve already read, place your hand under the spine and recall some pertinent detail, the book will open to the correct section.  _

 

_ My greatest affections, _

 

_ Draconical Larena, _

_ King of the Draconic Races _

“Well that’s handy, I muttered. Guess magical books don’t need indexes.” I mutter. I place the letter down on the books cover. And watch, blinking slowly, as it seemingly sinks into the leather. “Automatic storage. Also handy.” ‘I think I’ve been inured to the shock.’ I place my hand tentatively on the spine, still clawed fingers needling tiny depressions into the leather. The sun’s rays are starting to peek over the horizon. Aunt Petunia will be up soon. The book’s cover lifts over my hand, pages flipping in a controlled arc displacing most of the pages until it lies open at a page near to the end. 

Paradoxically, the heading proudly proclaims  _ This is the beginning.  _ Beneath that is a small crest; a dagger crossed over a budding rose. “The beginning, huh?” I murmur. ‘Well the letter did say that what I would likely need would be at the start and end of the book, so…’ I run the tips of my claws carefully over the crest, starting as the tip sinks into the page. “Damnit, I don’t want to damage a thousand year old book.” I frown, trying to tug my claw out without tearing the paper anymore. It only sinks further in, heat tingling up from through my fingertip the parchment page comes to rest against my flesh. 

Beneath my finger the crest pulses, light flaring once… twice… And then there a slight tugging below my navel and a sucking sensation before I’m free falling through the air to land with a mighty splash. In, I look around, an underground spring. ‘Heated.’ I think, as I melt into the rocks, wings flaring out rest gently on the heated stones. I let out a low moan, I can feel all my muscles relaxing, my bones turning to jelly. ‘Harry goo, that’s what I am.’ A low purr rumbles through the air, and I close my eyes, I’ve never felt anything so- so-

“Enjoying yourself?”

Even my startle is languid, eyes blinking slowly. “Hmm.” My brows start to furrow, ‘Wait.’ I think, ‘Hotsprings don’t appear out of books. In books.’ I shake my head.

“Now, dear cousin, don’t frown. Your face will get stuck like that.” The voice is gentle, the teasing light and fond, rather than harsh and mocking. 

“Hunh.” My tongue isn’t co-operating with my brain. And my talons have come out, too, I realise as my toes curl into the stone at the bottom of the shallow pool. 

“Oh, I know. I had exactly the same reaction the first time I got to have a proper soak after my inheritance. Hot water and heated stones. Mmmm, nothing quite like it. It’s the draconic in us, loves a little fire.”

“Warm.” I’m not cooing, I’m not. I’m fourteen, I’m a boy. I do not coo. 

“Yeah, hun. It’s nice isn’t it? My name’s Marick. Why don’t you surface a little more and tell me yours, huh cousin?” 

“Marick, tha’s nice.” The words gurgle slightly and I realise that I had indeed sunk down, the water now lapping just under my nose. I give myself a shake and rise up to sit properly. “Harry.” I say. “I’m Harry, my name that is. It’s Harry Potter.” 

“Well then Harry, it’s nice to meet you. It’s been awhile since we got a new one.”

“We?” I ask, tilting my head slightly. 

“Oh, just the memories and soul casts contained in this book. I think it’s been… Some four hundred years since we got a new one.”

“Four hundred!” That startles me out of my heat stupor. 

“Mm, it takes quite a bit of power for the inheritance to manifest. And I’d say you’re the first with equal draconic to demonic tendencies. The others have tended more solidly to one side.”

“So…?”

“Take me for example. I took much more after the draconic side of things. That’s why my soul cast pulls you to this pool.”

“Soul cast?”

I must be pulling a face because he chuckles and says, “Oh hun, don’t worry about any of that, just soak, take a nap, and let your body recover okay. I’ll explain it all after you’ve had a chance to heal up a bit, okay?” Against my will, my eyes are drooping again, and I slide further into the water. A warm hand catches my shoulder and tugs me over to an underwater shelf. 

“Don’t want you sinking too far in.” I hear faintly, then there’s a clawed hand carding through my hair and a rumble purr reverberating through the cave. Lulled, I shift and turn slightly, before settling on my stomach with my wings spread over the water’s surface and my head pillowed on folded arms. The stone here is smooth and slopes gently into the water, with small grooves for my talons to catch in. 

“Comfy.” I manage to mumble, before I go completely limp in sleep. 


	5. My wings like me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marick teaches Harry to hide his wings away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a sad chapter. Dragon's aren't meant to hide their wings, even if it's not safe to keep them out all the time.

The first thing I feel is a pleasant scritching through the short hairs on the nape of my neck. Followed by a low bass rumbling up through the stone, and the bone-melting wet heat of the pool. ‘Hotspring. Right. Book.’ 

I hum, and turn my head, tipping it further to expose my nape for more scritches. A light laugh and there are clawed hands delicately tracing patterns into my skin, carding carefully through my hair. It’s clear they’ve been doing it for a while, as the claws slip smoothly through without catching on any tangles or snarls. 

“Hmnn. Marick, mm, right?” I say around a yawn, fangs clicking back together as my jaw snaps back into place. 

“Yeah, hun. Have a nice nap?”

“Was good. Yeah, comfy.” I nuzzle back into my arms, I’ve never felt so comfortable in my life. Even including that first night on a proper mattress, in Gryffindor Tower, at Hogwarts. 

“Us dragons, we love the heat. And hot springs are a beautiful way to relax. They also keep help your wings limber, stop them from drying out. You let them get too dry, and they start to crack and split. There’s nothing more painful. So make sure you take them time for a good, hot soak every week or two. Okay, hun?”

“Soak. Often. Wings like it.” Marick’s still carding through my hair, it’s ‘Well not really distracting, as much as. It’s something I’ve never felt before’. 

“Mm-hm. Alright, time to get up, now hun. You’ve got to listen to a few important bits and pieces before I send you on, okay?”

I whine. Without even really registering it the petulant noise slips out between my teeth, it’s a release I wouldn’t usually give myself. 

“Come on now. You can come back and visit anytime you like. We’ve just got to get this first bit done, make sure you survive  _ to  _ come back.”

With a small shake I lever myself up from my sprawl. I push my damp fringe out of my eyes and screw my nose up at Marick. “‘m listening.”

I hear a soft sigh and Marick slides gentle claws through my hair one last time before tugging both of us up out of the water. Once we’re both settled a short way from the water’s edge near a small crevice that occasionally lets out jets of milky white steam he begins. 

“I do so dislike this part. But it must be done.” Marick looks me dead in the eyes, the sadness palpable. “The first thing you have to learn is how to hide those lovely wings of yours.”

“Hide them?”

“Yes, hun. And it will  _ hurt _ the first few times. Our bodies aren’t really built to do it, and our minds definitely aren’t.”

“Our minds? Why would they be bothered?” 

“Your mind’s going to keep sending signals to your wings, try to use them for balance, for protection. They’ll try to react when you’re startled, when you like someone, dislike someone, when you’re happy or sad. When you hide your wings you cut that off, and it feels like cutting a limb.” Marick face is sad, and one of his hands reaches up almost automatically to stroke along one wing ridge. 

“Oh.” I’m used to pain, it’s easy to ignore, but I don’t like it. And the thought of carrying around all the time, locked up into my back with my wing...

“Yeah, hun, all of us look like that in the beginning. It’s a terrible thing to get used to, but you will.” Marick reaches out to stroke through my hair agian. “It wasn’t safe for me to leave my wings out, and I doubt it will be for you.”

I can only nod to that, with what happened with the whole Heir of Slytherin thing I wouldn’t be surprised if the Wizarding World decided I was trying to be a Dark Lord again. Or something worse. I take a deep breath and look up at Marick.

“How do I do this?” 

“Start by flaring your wings out.” Marick says, his own wide purple wings snapping open to their full extension. They are beautiful, and very impressive, each wing is longer than Marick’s armspan. 

“Then fold them in as close as you can, it might take a bit of shuffling, but you should be able to get them to lie tucked against your back.” Again, Marick’s wings demonstrate, and he turns to the side so I can get a better look. They do tuck in close, the wing claws sitting about a foot above head height over each shoulder, and the tips close to trailing on the ground. 

I try to look over my shoulder to look my wings better, but all I can see leathery black. I must let out a frustrated noise, because Marick comes over and helps. Carefully, slowly, he starts tugging and pulling my wings into a proper tuck. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and very warm, to have my wings pressed close like this. 

“Alright, now I want you to focus.” He presses warm palms to my back, over my shoulder blades. “Can you feel the pressure of my hands? I want you visualise your wings sinking into your back, melting into the skin. They’ll still be there, only hidden, not so bulky.” 

It’s difficult, it feels so wrong to hide them. Even though I’ve only had my wings for a few hours, they feel like a part of me, it feels right to have them. The thought of not being able to get them back. I shudder helplessly. 

“They’ll still be there, hun, and you can bring them back out whenever you like. They aren’t going to disappear forever.” It helps a little, and finally I manage to convince the part of me that doesn’t want my wings to be anywhere but out and proud. 

The feeling of them, sinking into my back, is strange. Sort of tingly, sort of itchy, sort of tickly. Not nice, but not really bad either. I shiver as they seem to stretch and settle under my skin, letting out the lungful of air I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. 

“There you go, hun,” Marick says, and there’s an undercurrent of laughter in his voice. 

“What?” I twist my head over my shoulder, now clear of wing.

“Oh, it’s just, hun, your wings really like you.”  Marick’s smirking, just a little, and it widens at the sight of my face. “Put your hand on your shoulder, hun.”

“Oh,” I laugh a little. I can feel the wing claw curved over my shoulder, and sliding my hand a little further down my back I can feel the leathery skin. 

“Yeah, hun.” Marick’s definitely laughing now. “They run all down your back.” 

“Oh,” Now, I’m a little worried, ‘What if someone sees them?’ My face creases up into a frown. “They’re just on my back, right. Not my arms?”

“Yeah, hun, I’d think they’d extend down to your knees, but they aren’t on your front, or your arms.” I breathe a sigh of relief, just showers I need to worry about then, and any visits to the Hospital Wing. 

“Alright, why don’t you bring them back out for me? We’ll do it a couple more times, get you and your wings used to it, and then you can head back out for today, m’kay?”

“Okay.”

“Remember, you can always come back here, you’ll be able to find my page in the book, now that you’ve visited here.” Marick smiles at me, ruffling my hair fondly, before he moves back to give me enough space to release my wings again.


End file.
